In the Madness that Follows
by something to prove
Summary: Without a doubt, Francis was the love of Mary's life and his death has left her devastated. But can she carry on with life enough to reclaim her country and outsmart an English spy? Or will her grief be her undoing? Gideon's loyalty to his country is above question, but his love for his daughter surpasses it. Will an act of kindness be enough to crack his devotion to Elizabeth?
1. Prologue: Fight or Flight

**A/N:** Mostly, this story will be my own original scenes and drabble about what's happening in their heads and hearts (e.g. what Mary wrote in those fake love letters!), and eventually a whole overarching storyline that will likely deviate from the show. But for the first several chapters there will probably be whole scenes from the show in this story so that I can show what they were thinking and feeling during the original scene, but I will try to avoid that as much as possible because you all have already seen the show. I apologize in advance.

* * *

 **Prologue: Fight or Flight**

The door to the cell in London Tower opened with the loud clattering of heavy metal locks. The prisoner seated at the desk writing looked up as Queen Elizabeth sauntered in, her chin raised imperiously. His face was smudged, his clothes dirty. Yet he smiled like someone in on a joke at her expense, clearly unimpressed by her.

"What's this?" Gideon Blackburn crowed in mock surprise, "The queen herself paying a visit to a common prisoner? Hmm. You _must_ need something." Elizabeth narrowed her eyes and tried not to let him get the better of her as he turned back to his writing, so much as if he intended to ignore her presence. She took comfort in the fact that he was in this cell and she was the one who put him here.

"A task that should come all too easily, given your talents," she mused scornfully. Gideon smirked in exasperation at the reintroduction of an age-old topic between them, and set down his quill as she paced behind him. "You lied to me," she accused, leaning over the back of his chair to hiss the words in his ear before continuing her circuit of his cell. Gideon rolled his eyes, unseen by her. "You made me care for you. You nearly made me…"

"But I didn't," he interrupted in defensive exasperation, before continuing in mocking innocence, "I couldn't make you fall in love with me because you're in love with Robert Dudley." Elizabeth paused with her back to him, not wanting him to see the rage that still played over her face at the memory of what had happened.

"Which you happily reported back to my half-sister. I was a girl, Gideon," she snarled. Gideon stood up, finally sufficiently provoked to meet her emotion with some of his own.

"And Bloody Mary was my queen," he defended angrily, all too logical for Elizabeth's tastes, "I was her eyes and ears sent to inform on you, the greatest threat to her crown." His voice, his words made it clear that he wondered when this would end. When she would finally stop punishing him. Stop taking it personally. She was a queen herself now and should know better than to blame a spy for being a spy.

"And when she ripped Robert from his cell and my arms, it nearly killed me," she returned stonily. Gideon's jaw tightened before he regained control of himself.

"Weakening you was a necessary precaution," he pointed out quickly. Then continued more gently, reprovingly, like a mentor schooling his pupil, "A queen must always be looking over her shoulder to those with the power to undo her." He walked up behind her, waiting for her to take in his words. Elizabeth's gaze slid sideways thoughtfully.

"I understand that now," she said bitterly, in no small way blaming him for teaching that lesson. She turned around to face him. "That's why I'm here," she added in a sly, pleased tone, "Mary Queen of Scots will soon seek a marriage alliance. Spain's Prince Don Carlos is among the interested candidates." Gideon smirked, amused at Elizabeth's expense.

"Well, that union would be quite the feather in your cousin's cap," he observed.

"Yes," drawled Elizabeth, "And one I'm eager to thwart." Gideon changed tactics, beginning to pace the room himself some.

"I hear Robert left court," he said in badly feigned solicitousness, "The Lady Dudley is quite ill. Is that why you're so eager to bring down the queen of Scots? Robert has abandoned you, you're bored without your little plaything?" His tone turned mocking on the words "bored" and "plaything." Elizabeth ignored his needling.

"Mary has released the French troops from Scotland," she explained, brushing past him, her golden skirts rustling, "And a new alliance would raise her international standing. That is something I can't afford." Gideon's face became serious as he listened to her, his mind for diplomatic strategy quickly analyzing the situation and its ramifications.

"And why would I agree to help you?" he asked skeptically.

"To gain your freedom," she said with mocking sweetness, "Perhaps there's a part of your blackened heart that longs to meet your daughter. I've taken Agatha in as my ward. Such a pity, a child growing up with two absent parents. Do this for me and I'll see you're reunited." Watching his face, she knew she had him. At the mention of his daughter he'd frowned, trying to control the emotion there. But there was no mistaking the longing or the defeat.

"And how do you suggest I gain Mary's trust?" he asked, his voice low with barely controlled anger. What was there that he wouldn't do to see his daughter? To get her away from the likes of Elizabeth?

"Well, by doing what you do best. By doing what you tried to do to me," she said sinisterly, "Make Mary fall in love with you."

* * *

When Mary closed the trunk lid over Francis' wedding jacket she had intended to close it over her heart as well. But the grief stayed with her. While a piece of her was packed away with the garment—the piece that allowed her to love, to find joy, to have hope in the world—the deep, unending sorrow remained. She knew she couldn't give in to it; she had a country to rule and a promise to keep to Francis. What would he think if she failed her country now? After all they had been through—the fights they had had over the fates of their respective countries, the attacks they had survived—how could she dishonor that memory by doing anything less than building a new alliance just as he had tried to arrange for her before he'd even passed? She would not love again. She knew it with every bone in her body. She was not capable of it. There would never be another love for her like Francis. He had been her passion and her inspiration. She could still feel the brush of his lips against hers, feel his hands running up and down her arms to comfort her. The emptiness of where those hands should have been felt cold.

But even though he had been her everything, there was one thing that remained her own: her strength. And she couldn't let the loss of him take that from her too. He would not have stood for it. It was true that she would not love again as she had loved Francis, but she didn't need to. That was not the way marriage alliances worked for monarchs. Her strength and resolve would have to be enough. She would find another husband to respect her and support her cause. She would find a powerful husband for Scotland.

In the meantime, what happened in the solitude of her room was her own secret to keep. And in the lonely darkness she held herself and wept.


	2. The Hound and the Hare

**a/n** **:** In case you missed the AN on the first chapter, there will occasionally be whole scenes from the show in this story so that I can show what they were thinking and feeling during the original scene, but I will try to avoid that as much as possible because you all have already seen the show. This chapter has one of those scenes.

* * *

The trip to France from England should have been a difficult one, given the choppy waters of the channel. But after years in London Tower, the sea air was so welcome to Gideon that he barely noticed the waves. He spent most of his time on deck when he should have been studying the reports and correspondence he'd been provided, devising a plan to win over the Scottish queen. But he couldn't bear to waste the fresh air. He breathed it deep, the salty breeze blowing the hair off his forehead and clearing his mind of years of imprisonment. He imagined what it would be like to finally meet his daughter—to hold her in his arms for the first time. He wondered if she would look like his wife; she'd been a beautiful woman with a kind heart that hid a fiery temper. He still felt the loss of her as dead space in his chest. It had long since made him lose some of his taste for the deceits of spy craft—not that he would tell Queen Elizabeth that. The queen of England still believed him capable of charming and seducing any woman and he would not disabuse her the notion so long as it bore the promise of his being reunited with his daughter. Freedom, even such limited and conditional freedom as his, felt marvelous to Gideon. To be clean. To wear a soft linen shirt and velvet doublet. To eat real food, even ship rations, let alone the good French cuisine that met him on the shores of France. Life in the Tower had left him a little thinner and a little more contemplative; a little more hopeless. And a little more determined. He was going to see his daughter even if he had to kill to do it.

Which is how, between the time he and his valet Jeffrey disembarked from the ship and arrived at the palace, Gideon Blackburn had become wildly focused and sufficiently educated himself on his quarry to recognize her as Queen Mary and the Spanish Prince, Don Carlos, strolled past in the verdant gardens of French court. He had yet to meet her, but he'd been given descriptions and could identify her by the whispers of the others around him. It was not a good sign that the two Catholic monarchs were so deeply entrenched in what appeared to be a pleasantly intimate conversation. Certainly, they did not notice him and had no reason to. Gideon could hear Mary's quiet laugh mix with Don Carlos' voice and carry to his ear over the grass. He squinted against the bright spring sunshine, stray floating pollen fluff catching in the dark curls of his hair. He needed to get inside the castle and get settled as quickly as possible, or his orders to seduce the Queen of Scots would be thwarted before they had a chance to begin.

* * *

Mary marched out of the English ambassador's chambers just as angry as she had stormed in. More so, even. She had just returned from her walk with Don Carlos to hear that Nicholas Throckmorton was gone, and a new English ambassador had just moved into his suite in the castle. More importantly, news of Elizabeth's troops looming on the Scottish border had just been delivered. It felt, to her, as one of many final straws that Elizabeth had dropped upon the proverbial camel's back. The man who had straightened from his stance leaning over the desk to meet her as the door opened, looked curious at the sudden intrusion, but not at all discomfited, a fact that had irked Mary even more as she had intended her confident entrance to be intimidating. The entire visit had backfired completely.

The new ambassador, Gideon Blackburn as he had introduced himself, had managed to turn half of what she said back on her and twice caused her to falter in her perfect composure. First with the revelation that everything they said was being recorded and then again with that impertinent comment: "My God, you are quite beautiful. Between you and Elizabeth, I don't know who is the more stunning." The memory of the brazen compliment making her see red as she stalked down the hall to her own rooms. The close proximity of their chambers angered her even more. She allowed herself the satisfaction of slamming the door behind her, then paced the room thinking.

This new ambassador was younger than Nicholas had been, not to mention more confident. Yet, he had acted as unconcerned at her blustering as if she were a young girl throwing a tantrum and would not be as easily cowed by her fury. She was not sure if that was good or bad for diplomatic relations, but she certainly didn't like it in him. She remembered his look of innocence which had had a hint of counterfeit that Mary did not like, as though he intended to outwit her somehow and was merely waiting for her to figure it out for herself. And it only added a fuel to her rage that helped her to decide to pursue Don Carlos with renewed vigor. She had to win Spain as an ally, if only to anger that smug ambassador as much as he angered her.

After Mary had stormed out and Jeffrey had been sent on his errand of espionage to threaten the Spanish prince, Gideon turned his attention to the record of the conversation that Jeffrey had so diligently taken during Mary's visit. He was no fool and he knew his valet must be a plant by Elizabeth to make sure that he carried out his orders to seduce Mary. Gideon needed to make certain that he knew exactly what Jeffrey was recording for Elizabeth's gratification. Such as his attempt at flirtation in complimenting Mary's beauty. Admittedly, he was a little rusty after years in a tower prison without a woman to work his wiles on, but Gideon had found long ago that the best way to seduce a woman was to use as much of the truth as possible to flatter her—it made him far less likely to be caught in a lie later and thus ruin any progress made. And while the compliment had been utterly calculated on Gideon's part, he had realized at the same time that it was also completely true. The part about Mary's beauty, that is. He'd only vaguely perceived it in an objective sort of way before, when he'd seen her in the garden. But when she faced him down in her anger he saw that her beauty was more than just objective fact; she was graceful and poised, shapely and elegant, the kind of dark-haired, full-lipped beauty that made his gut feel warm as if he'd just drank a glass of port.

In truth, Gideon had been more taken-aback by Mary's entrance than he let on, but was not especially displeased. It made things a lot easier for him that he hadn't had to seek out the first introduction. Not to mention the glimpse of Mary's passionate personality it gave him—even if she was angry—he could use that. A passionate woman is a woman with passions to be aroused, a woman that can be seduced. Even if the deception was distasteful to him at times. Gideon's small, unimpressed smile in the face of her anger had not improved Mary's mood. And when Mary threatened an alliance with Spain against England, Gideon had met her gaze with unflappable calm and an amused look, his mental wheels turning at a rate that would have alarmed Mary could she have seen them. Yet, he had no problem provoking her: she would not be the first woman to start angry with him and end in his arms later.

* * *

In spite of herself, Mary had found that she was enjoying Don Carlos's game. The thrill of the chase was hard to deny, as was the infectious laughter of the others as they ran through the woods around her. That is, until she injured her ankle. It was ruined even further by the intrusion of none other than her newest arch nemesis: the English ambassador, Gideon Blackburn. And now, here she was, in his arms, being carried back to the castle, annoyingly at his mercy. When he'd first picked her up, she'd shrieked, indignant at the liberties he was taking, and more than a little angry at the wave of terror and thrill of excitement that suddenly washed over her as he hefted her into a more comfortable position. She had curled back her hands, trying to keep them away from him, frowning irately as she did so. Gideon had not seemed particularly pleased either.

In reality he was more than a little frustrated at the thwarting of his plans and at the same time trying to determine how he could turn this new development in his favor. He'd been stalking her through the woods for a while, hoping to interrupt her if she found Don Carlos, perhaps eavesdrop on some helpful information, or maybe even instigate the beginnings of his seduction. But instead she was injured. And regardless of orders from Elizabeth, he could not take advantage of an injured woman. Truthfully, he was having a hard time reconciling himself to the idea of seduction at all. He'd not cared for it when he was sent to seduce Elizabeth and he did not care for it now. The order and all that it entailed hunched constantly, ominously in the back of his mind. Charming a woman into friendship and spilling secrets was one thing. But to seduce a queen and make her fall in love with him for the sole purpose of betraying that trust and manipulating the fate of an entire country was something that did not sit well with his conscience. He'd known and lost real love in his lifetime already, and had too much respect for it to willingly abuse it in such a fashion. Perhaps that was the real reason he'd never succeeded in seducing Queen Elizabeth. But he was loyal to his country and dutiful to a fault and he would do as he'd been ordered. Just as he'd done so many times before.

The silence between them stretched as he carried her and eventually Mary draped her arms around his shoulders because it was the only comfortable place to put them. She studiously looked ahead, trying not to take in any details about the man carrying her. It was hard though. His soft brown hair tickled her hands laced over his shoulder and she had a prime view of his high cheekbones and the deep smile lines on the sides of his expressive mouth, partially hidden by his scruffy beard. Not to mention the strength of the arms with which he'd been carrying her some distance already. She needed to distract herself. The longer he held her, the more focused on his positive attributes she became. And so far those attributes were largely physical. She reminded herself that she was just noticing these things about him because of his bullheaded chivalry.

"I must admit," she said, breaking the silence in an attempt to put her mind on something else, "as misguided as your way of going about it has been, I did not expect you to come to my rescue so chivalrously."

"Why? Because I'm English?" he said dourly. Mary squared her shoulders a little indignantly, forcing Gideon to hoist her slightly and readjust her weight in his arms. She bit her lips down over a muffled squeak.

"Well, yes, frankly," she shot back, then added a little more restrained, "And I was trying to say thank you."

"Hmm," Gideon grunted, a sound that was highly disbelieving and just a little amused. She could see the laugh lines around his mouth deepening slightly with the effort to hold back a smile at her expense. "And just what, exactly, would you have expected an Englishman to do?" he asked. Mary paused in thought. She hadn't really considered the matter before she spoke and now wondered at how ridiculous it sounded. Enemies or no, she hadn't felt particularly threatened by him at any point, and doing her injury certainly would not assist in any political negotiations for an ambassador. Even if he was likely also a spy.

"You'll forgive me if I'm overly cautious after my husband's death," she said by way of explanation. It felt traitorous to bring up Francis while being carried through the woods by one man after having injured her foot trying to court another. She didn't like it. It made her tense and Gideon's grip on her seemed to reflexively tighten in response.

"Hmm," he grunted again. Though this time he did not sound amused, merely thoughtful. And increasingly out of breath. He'd been carrying her for a while and, while still in his prime and good physical condition, it had been a long walk with a heavy and distractingly beautiful load. "It is understandable," he gasped out between labored breaths.

"Are you quite alright?" Mary asked as he stopped walking and set her down on her feet.

"You're light as a feather. I swear," Gideon panted, a statement belied by the fact that he was currently doubled over, desperately trying to catch his breath.

"Well, thank you for that," Mary said, dryly yet still more kindly than any of their previous exchanges, again mollified by his gallantry and the exertion he was making on her behalf. She watched his heaving breaths with a little concern and some confusion. "I could walk," she said matter-of-factly, gesturing in the direction of the castle that they could now see glimpses of through the trees. Her tone mildly suggested he was being a tad ridiculous to insist on carrying her and that she was more than capable of going on her own.

Gideon shook his head and put out a staying hand, "No, just give me a minute." She adjusted her dress as she waited, making sure all was in place and decent. Gideon regarded her thoughtfully. The walk hadn't been totally useless; the brief conversation with the queen of Scots had given him a bit more insight into her character. It was becoming more and more obvious to him that his mission to seduce her was unlikely to succeed as her recent heartbreak had made her too suspicious to be easily charmed. He would have to reach Elizabeth's goals of thwarting an alliance by some other means. Perhaps by a means more pleasant to his conscience and more likely to build some much needed trust. Perhaps some more honesty was in order. Gideon made up his mind; but he would have to do it now with Jeffrey out of the way and unable to question his motives. "Queen Mary," he said, finally catching his breath, "I realize I'm the last person you would trust," Mary gave him a skeptical once over that thoroughly confirmed his statement, "but I feel I should tell you. You may think Don Carlos is the answer to your troubles, but he will only bring more."

Mary scoffed. "I'm not taking marriage advice from one of my enemies, thank you." Gideon tried again more urgently. It was frustrating to be disbelieved when he was actually sharing confidential information Fwith her that could get him in trouble if anyone knew he was the one who'd ordered the threatening note to Don Carlos. A leap of logic that would not be difficult to make once someone realized he had access to the gossip.

"The prince harbors a secret. A dark one. Ana of Austria expelled him from her court for that very reason," sinews in Gideon's neck stood out as though he was barely restraining his annoyance at her stubbornness as he spoke.

Mary glared at him, crossing her arms in equal annoyance, "Why the sudden concern for my well-being? Perhaps Queen Elizabeth would like to keep me from marrying Spain?" Gideon's jaw worked angrily. Yes, he had a mission to prevent her marriage, but he was also earnestly trying to help her. She was determined to think the worst of him simply based on his being English.

"Maybe I'm saving your life and I don't want to waste the effort," he snapped, angrily picking her up again. Her squeak of surprise was not nearly so loud this time, rather, Mary adjusted her skirt and looped her arms around his neck like an old habit. "My silence would be as wrong as leaving you helpless back there in the woods," he continued, slightly calmer and only a little bitter sounding. Mary gave him an self-righteous look, tilting her head back slightly to look him in the eye.

"Oh! Very well, I'll bite. What is this terrible rumor?"

"Our spies only know that it's something… sexual," he grimaced over the word as though it made him painfully uncomfortable to say it to a beautiful queen he was currently holding in his arms, "Some object the prince showed to Ana which she found abhorrent."

"My lord," Jeffrey's voice called from a distance. They could see the tall, slim valet approaching them across the castle lawn, only a few feet from the edge of the wood, accompanied by a small contingent of servants. Gideon set Mary back on her feet but did not stop talking, instead lowering his voice and trying to impart his information to her as quickly and quietly as possible. He could not let Jeffrey report this back to Elizabeth and run the risk of her doubting his allegiance.

"Something that's traveled to France with him, no doubt. If Don Carlos' secret scared Ana, it should scare you too," Gideon finished, then speaking loudly and clearly to the approaching attendants he said, "Ah, Jeffrey, you found us. The queen has injured her ankle. Ensure she gets back safely." With that and a truncated bow of his head, Gideon left her feeling quite uncertain about all that had just transpired. More alarmingly, she found herself believing him… and doubting Don Carlos.


	3. Wedlock

Wedlock

A/N: Several more scenes from the show in this one; but they're super important to what's happening in Gideon's head in regard to Mary and Elizabeth.

Thanks to my reviewers! You motivated me to update faster! :)

* * *

Mary lay, restlessly awake, staring up at the canopy over her bed; her mind too fraught with the rapid succession of disasters and choices that had plagued her lately to allow for sleep. How had she come to this place in her life? Francis gone. Her mother, gone. Engaged to a powerful prince who, due to an accident she had no small part in, now spent his days helpless and impaired as a child. When had she become the kind of person to take advantage of a helpless innocent as the injured prince? To let someone like Narcisse manipulate her into swindling gold from her fiancé? All she had wanted was the resources to feed her people in Scotland. God, she missed Francis. This new bed felt lumpy and cold—not like the warm and comforting place that had been their marriage bed.

With a sigh, Mary abandoned sleep and donned a robe, seeking fresh air to clear her mind. At the door to the balcony she almost turned back when she saw that someone else was already standing there. But he had turned to see who was coming onto the balcony when she opened the door and she could not allow herself to appear to turn tail and run. Certainly not in front of him, of all people. She sighed and continued out onto the shared balcony.

"Ambassador Blackburn," she greeted primly. He was toying with the ring on his hand in thought, and the moonlight seemed to throw his features into a silvery contrast—his warm brown eyes black in the shadows. Gideon had his own burdens to draw him out here: a mission he didn't like, a wife he missed, a daughter he longed to meet. And a queen he cared little for ruling a country that he loved and would die for. The irony of another queen he did not want to deal with interrupting his thoughts was not lost on him. But Mary's obvious annoyance at finding him there amused him, and the lines around his mouth gave him away.

"Your Highness," he returned, forehead creased and lips pressed over a smirk, "Call me Gideon, please. Did I startle you?" Mary tried to ignore his entertained demeanor.

"Just a little," she admitted resentfully. She stepped forward to join him at the railing.

"My apologies," he said, "I imagine when you were queen of France, you had a private balcony all to yourself. No such surprises as another restless soul." _And what wouldn't you do to return to that life of privilege?_ he thought bitterly. His voice turned mildly mocking, "You'll be back to a life of luxury and privacy soon enough, once you wed the prince of Spain. Will I be invited to the lavish celebration?" He sounded like the little voice in her head that she had come out here to get away from.

"There won't be any," she answered sourly, "It would be in poor taste, as I am recently a widow." As though that were the only reason it would be in poor taste. Not because the man she was marrying was a recently made docile imbecile. Gideon did not seem inclined to let it go.

"Is it your conscience that's brought you out here tonight?" he asked. Mary glanced at him sharply, wondering how much he, as a diplomat and spy, knew of the accident and the part she and Catherine had played in Don Carlos' sex game gone wrong. "Knowing you're marrying a compromised prince?" he pressed. Mary looked away again, out over the star washed view, letting her disdain for Gideon's questions wash over her face. _Let him see it_ , she thought. Gideon continued, "I'm told Don Carlos can't remember the accident, but since his fall, he rarely talks. Half his body seems damaged-"

"I have cared for an ailing husband before," she cut him off angrily, "I will care for Don Carlos just the same." And maybe in doing so ease her conscience over making him this way and then taking advantage of his money and position. Gideon gave her an incredulous look. The fact that she would equate the two experiences astounded him, only someone clinging to a guilty conscience or in the depths of denial could make that comparison.

"Well, you loved King Francis," he said, pointing out yet another obvious fact that was plaguing her, "This marriage is mercenary at best."

"You know nothing of Francis or my heart," she snapped fiercely, glaring at him again for crossing a line into her deepest pain, "I need Spain. I have a country to protect, and I have lost more than you could fathom." Gideon looked down at his hands again, appropriately chastised. And yet… Gideon's heart darkened with the memory of his own pain. He knew nothing of her loss? _She_ knew nothing of _his_.

"Oh, I know loss, Mary," he said gently, reproachfully, meeting Mary's gaze once again, "I was married once, to a girl I loved _so_ deeply. She died in childbirth." Now it was Mary's turn to feel chastised. "I'm sorry," she said quietly, truly meaning it.

"Love like that can be a curse," he said, warming to his subject, letting the pain drive his words, "not just because one grieves, but because it will be hard to love again, to settle for anything less. And the man you will marry offers _far_ less." She knew he was right. But she also knew that love had nothing to do with it. That was a luxury he could indulge in, not her.

"Spain is the most powerful nation in the world," she explained resignedly, "And with Scotland tilting to the Protestants more and more each day, I cannot return now without Catholic protection." Gideon watched her calculatingly. Her face looked so pale in the moonlight, and yet he surmised that it was more than that making her look so sad. He felt, deep in his soul, the same loss she did. And it made it impossible for him to imagine marrying again, let alone for the reasons she was going to.

It was true that he had an edge he needed to press, to stop this marriage for his country, but at this moment that was secondary to his distaste for what she was doing to her own heart and he genuinely wanted to know: "And what does Spain offer you as a woman?" She heard everything he meant with that, emotionally, mentally, _physically_. "Are you really prepared to spend the rest of your life with someone you know you will never love?" Mary barely held her fury in check.

"You are turning the conversation because you are Elizabeth's spy," she accused, her rage threatening to turn into tears as she spoke, "You want to manipulate me into calling off the wedding, destroying the alliance with Spain. You probably never even had a wife. It's just another lie you tell." Mary turned and began to walk back inside. Gideon sighed in frustration. How was it that every time he was most honest with her she was utterly convinced he was lying? Mary was not an easy woman to talk to.

"I never said was a good man," he called after her, causing her to hesitate and look back, his voice softening with sincerity, "but one _can_ receive good advice from a bad person. And I promise, you marry that prince, you'll regret it forever." It was not the promise he made, but the man who was making it that made Mary resolve to do exactly the opposite.

* * *

Gideon left the Spanish delegation with a cheerful bounce in his step, only a few paces behind Mary as she marched angrily from the room where'd he'd just outmaneuvered her and convinced Spain to delay the wedding and wait for Elizabeth's non-existent marriage proposal. He skipped forward to catch up to the queen, unable to resist the opportunity to rub in his victory.

"Queen Mary," he said in a deliberately bad imitation of solicitousness, "please accept my apologies for the inconvenience that my country's negotiations must be causing you. You understand, of course, that it is nothing personal. Spain is the most powerful nation in the world and quite the ally worth having." He made no effort to hide his direct quote of her words from the balcony. Mary's upper lip was quivering with rage as she turned to glare at Gideon. He met her gaze with a self-satisfied, smug smirk that he seemed to somehow know made him charming, especially when he was being a pest; and he was definitely being a pest. Mary found herself wishing she could knock him flat on his back and climb on his chest while choking the life out of him.

"And I'm supposed to believe such an apology when we both know that you would do anything in your power to prevent an alliance being made between Scotland and Spain," she ground out between clenched jaws, "even going so far as to offer a marriage proposal that probably isn't even real." Gideon gave her a feigned look of cheerful innocence, which she returned with another glare.

"Oh, I assure you, it is quite real," he lied. Mary crossed her arms to stop herself from reaching out and throttling him. "But," he added with a look of sympathy, "I understand your suspicions given your delicate position with your impending return to Scotland." It was a low blow to bring that up, and Mary involuntarily stamped one foot in rage. Gideon couldn't help thinking that she was entertaining when angry and there was no drug quite like winning. Truth be told, outsmarting Mary was the most fun he'd had in months.

"Revel in your victory while you can," Mary warned, "because it will not last." With that vague threat, she whirled and hurried down the corridor away from his infuriating smirk.

* * *

Mary fretted as she waited under the garden colonnade for the English ambassador to answer her summons. She felt she must be going crazy to ask for help from someone as maddening as Gideon Blackburn. But her last conversation with Greer had made it obvious that no one invested in the well-being of herself and her country was going to take her concerns about the Spanish prince seriously. The only person who she could count on to do everything in his power to confirm that Don Carlos was hiding something nefarious was the one man who didn't want her to get married as much as everyone else did want her to. Beyond that, she had to admit that every warning he had given her against Spain so far had been true; he had been right about Don Carlos' sexual secrets and she would be lying to herself if she didn't admit that he was right about the lack of love in the proposed marriage. She didn't trust Don Carlos—if she really thought about it, there wasn't much in her interaction with him to cause her to trust him, rather the opposite. And while Gideon could not be trusted by nature of his being English and therefore her enemy, his actions had been no less trustworthy than the Spanish prince and had in fact saved her life at least once already.

Meanwhile, Gideon Blackburn made his way with hurried steps to the colonnade in the garden, worry setting his mind racing. It could not be anything good for the Scottish queen to summon him at all, much less at this time of night; with how much she despised him it was at least a cause for concern. His gut quivered at the possible dangers.

"Queen Mary, you sent for me?" Gideon said, the instant he could make out her figure in the dark. Mary steeled herself and stepped out from behind the column where she was waiting for him, determined to be the one in control this time. His stomach twisted again and he felt his mouth go a little dry. In the dappled moonlight she looked ethereal in her beauty.

"Yes," she confirmed calmly, her demeanor all business as she explained, "I need some good advice from a bad person. I'm concerned the Spanish prince is lying to me about his condition, that he's recovered more than he's letting on." Gideon frowned in cautious confusion.

"Why would he do that?"

"I don't know," she hedged. Of course she knew, or at least had some ideas. "But if he's deceiving me, he's also deceiving your queen and is therefore unsuitable for both of us." Gideon favored her with one of his many sardonic expressions, unwilling to be tricked into some trap of the Scottish queen's.

"Certainly you haven't come to me out of concern for your English cousin," he noted drolly. Mary refused to be needled.

"I came to you because everyone in this castle wants me to go forward with this marriage, except you," she confessed, her manner that of someone who knows she is in the more powerful position of the moment, "I know you want to stop this alliance at any cost, so I'm giving you a chance to find the truth for me. If Don Carlos is lying, then he must have an ulterior motive. I need proof before the wedding happens." Gideon frowned in alarm.

"That's tomorrow," he protested. Mary smiled smugly—it felt good to be the one being smug this time.

"Yes," she agreed with the smallest hint of glee, "So you'd better get to it then." Mary turned and glided away, far too pleased with Gideon's slack-jawed surprise.

* * *

Mary tried not to visibly wring her hands as she readied herself for the wedding to Don Carlos. She still had yet to hear from ambassador Blackburn on the mission she'd given him. When the door opened, it was with relief that she saw Gideon enter. A relief that she never thought she would feel at the sight of him, at the same time that she was filled with anxiety over what he was about to report. She waited as his steps slowed, his mouth opening slightly as he stared at her. He coughed and hoped she couldn't tell that seeing her in the red and gold wedding gown had literally taken his breath away for a moment. The vibrant red veil was striking against her black hair and pale skin, somehow making her dark eyebrows frame her limpid brown eyes in a way that could mesmerize a man.

"My apologies. I… I know it's bad luck to see the bride before her wedding," he chuckled awkwardly, and immediately regretted it. Mary seemed unmoved. Her servants, responding to some unseen cue from her, vacated the room to allow her and the ambassador some privacy.

"Only if you're the groom," she noted. Something about that mild matter-of-fact reply was like a splash of cold water to the face for Gideon. Apparently he'd also forgotten why he was here. He sighed with annoyance, though more at himself than her, before launching into his report.

"The Spanish have hired a team of mercenaries for your journey to Spain. A group with a particular talent for assassination," he told her, then following his own instinct to investigate he asked, "Queen Mary, is there any reason the prince would wish you harm?" Mary gasped slightly.

"I've made some choices that I regret," she admitted hesitantly, that regret clearly showing on her face, "Choices that betrayed his trust. I didn't mean to hurt him, but…" Gideon watched her intently, carefully listening to every word for some clue as to the truth of what was happening here. Mary suddenly gasped again, only this time in horror, "The Crown Matrimonial! I agreed to grant it to him. I thought that he would never be a threat to me." Her composure was slipping at the realization of what this meant. Gideon was just as quick to understand the implications.

"Mary," he said urgently, taking several steps toward her with barely contained intensity, "if he has recovered, and he's deceiving you, then once you're married…"

"He could have me killed and still be the king of Scotland," Mary finished for him, "And what prince wouldn't want his own country to rule? Do you have any evidence?"

"No," Gideon answered, obviously racking his brain for any detail that might be used against Don Carlos, "No, mercenaries are paid well for their silence."

"I could confront him," she suggested.

"He may claim he's hired these men for your protection," Gideon countered. Mary's eyes rolled heavenward in desperation, trying to find a way out.

"I can't back out of a marriage without cause," her voice rose in growing panic, "Spain would retaliate." She paused as an idea came to her and started again more confidently, "If I can't prove that he means to kill me, perhaps I can prove something else-that he's a liar. Trying to deceive a queen into marriage." Gideon shook his head.

"Your ceremony's in two hours," he pointed out, "How do you expect to prove this?" Mary's face grew even calmer.

"With a trick," she said, "One my mother taught me." Gideon looked nonplussed. He had no doubt that she was clever, she'd demonstrated it enough to him in their conversation and the way she'd enlisted his help, but he wasn't sure what she planned. But he was impressed by her decisiveness, and the courage she showed at facing the situation head on. Seeing the way he was looking at her, eyes narrowed in thought as he tried to guess what she might be up to, Mary decided to take pity on him. "I'm going to switch the marriage contract," she explained, "put one without the Crown Matrimonial in front of Don Carlos to sign. If he is faking his condition, he will see the trick, call me out for it, and thus reveal himself." Gideon tried to hold back a smile of approval.

"Clever," he said.

"Don't sound so surprised," Mary replied dryly.

"Believe me, I'm not. How can I help?"

"You already have, plenty. The rest is up to me. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have work to do and only two hours to do it."

* * *

Mary was on the balcony waiting for him. Ostensibly she was there for the fresh air, but, though she would never admit it aloud, part of her wanted to share in the success of her scheme with him. Working together with him, planning, strategizing, had been somehow satisfying, if not ideal. Gideon sauntered out onto the balcony, no sign that he was surprised to see her there. It was almost as if he'd been looking and she was right where he'd expected.

"So," he drawled, coming to stand next to her and resting his forearms on the balustrade, "how does it feel to be unattached once again?" He smiled faintly. Mary breathed deeply, glancing briefly at the night sky.

"I feel relieved, I suppose. Although, today was hardly a victory. Scotland needed that alliance," she mused, disappointedly. He shrugged one shoulder.

"You did manage to procure some much needed grain for your country, if it's any consolation," he pointed out kindly. She sensed that he sincerely wanted to comfort her and cast him a grateful look.

"It is," she said. He smiled briefly as if to say 'you're welcome.' Then, after a pause, she added humbly, "You were right, you know. I do want love in my life. Truthfully, who doesn't want that? But for me… as a queen…" She paused again, looking out over the landscape. "Oh, I was lucky to have it once," she breathed reverently as he listened with all seriousness, "I need to accept that, for me, marriage is likely a different subject altogether. Why did you warn me about the Spanish mercenaries?" She asked suddenly, "I know Elizabeth doesn't want to take responsibility for my death, but she's quite happy to let someone else do it. Why save my life?" Gideon turned and leaned against the railing with one arm, facing her.

"I assure you my decision was purely diplomatic," he said, just the slightest hint of his usual teasing lilt returning to his voice, "Elizabeth wouldn't want Don Carlos ruling Scotland. A king she distrusts looming at England's borders?" True. But also a lie. Elizabeth certainly would not want a powerful catholic king ruling Scotland, but it was more than that. As combative as his relationship with Mary had been so far, he understood that their antagonism was due to political necessity and not a result of her character. She was intelligent and ultimately a person with integrity—if she hadn't a conscience she would never have been so bothered by his accusations that she had been prepared to marry Don Carlos for mercenary reasons. The world needed more monarchs with integrity; and if England was ever to see peace, it needed Scotland to have a queen like Mary. And if his mind was ever to know peace in this life, he needed to know that someone like her lived in the world.

"Perhaps. Or maybe your loyalty to Elizabeth is less than absolute?" Mary mused, interrupting his thoughts and finally coming to the more pressing reason for why she was out here waiting to talk to him. She reached into her cloak and pulled out the carefully folded letter she'd been hiding there. With a suspicious frown, Gideon took the missive and opened it, revealing a child's drawing inside. "It's from your daughter Agatha," Mary informed him, "I've been intercepting some of your correspondence from England. I didn't believe you when you told me about your wife before. But my own spies have confirmed what happened to her. And now Elizabeth has your little girl, doesn't she?" Gideon's silence, his expression of barely restrained longing, was all the confirmation Mary needed. "She's using your daughter to ensure that you sabotage my alliances. To have your child taken from you. I'm so sorry." Gideon's heart twisted in agony. Holding the paper that his daughter had touched, the closest he'd ever come to being with his child. The little girl he was sure was beautiful as her mother and deserved so much more for a father than a man capable of lies, deceit, and seducing a queen who deserved her throne more than the monarch who currently owned him.

"I don't want your pity," he smiled sadly. He couldn't handle her pity when his orders were to manipulate her so thoroughly. The readiness of that sad smile, playing over his face at the same time that it was so full of loneliness and grief and barely contained tears suddenly cast a new light on every sarcastic smile he'd bestowed on her previously. Mary's heart went out to him. Her enemy.

"Tell your queen that you single handedly sabotaged the alliance with Spain," she instructed with a gentle firmness that said it was not pity, but a sense of justice, "Take the credit, Gideon, and hopefully, as a reward, she'll let you see your child soon." She turned to go, but he couldn't let her leave like that, with him her debt. Her kindness deserved one in turn.

"Mary," he said suddenly, reaching out and grabbing her arm to stop her, "there's something you need to know." Mary tensed at his touch, glancing down at his strong, gentle hand as she extracted her arm, before her gaze was inexorably drawn back up to his again. He was looking at her so intently, his voice husky and serious. Her heart beat a little faster, suddenly aware of his masculinity in the darkness. "Sooner rather than later. There's news of the Reformation in Scotland, independent of Elizabeth. It's become a Protestant nation. I know you planned to go back to Scotland, but as a Catholic, if you return now, you'll be an outsider in your own country. They may not welcome you back. What will you do?" Mary took a steadying breath.

"I don't know," she admitted, "I can't stay in France forever. But I don't want your pity either. " Gideon watched her walk away, once again thinking that she was a difficult, stubborn woman even if she was a woman he could respect.


	4. Bruises That Lie

Bruises That Lie

A/N: I can't take credit for the poems, they were actually written by the real Mary Stuart, this is just my translation from the old Scots and French with some re-interpretive changes to fit the story.

* * *

Gideon strode out onto the balcony with a casual confidence that spoke to the level of comfort he currently felt with the person waiting for him there. She would, of course, never admit that she was waiting for him, but he knew it to be the case. Ever since they had worked together to thwart Don Carlos's plot against her, Gideon and Mary had come to a tentative truce; a truce aided by their occasional nighttime conversations on the balcony. He smiled to himself as he stepped out into the night air, pleased to see her there. Pleased because it meant he was making progress in gaining her trust as he'd been ordered to do. But also pleased because he actually enjoyed her company. She had an intellect to engage his own and his ego was not such as to blind him to that.

"You're early tonight," he commented. Mary did not turn to greet him, choosing instead to continue looking out into the quiet of the castle grounds at night.

"I didn't realize you had a schedule I was to keep to," she replied dryly. Her tone plainly said that any such expectation was impertinent on his part and would not be tolerated.

"I don't. I merely meant to comment on the earliness of the evening," he assured her, making reference to the livieness of the castle halls below them. Mary shifted uncomfortably, sensing that despite his words he absolutely meant to imply that she had been hoping he would come join her here. Which of course she had been, but she did not like him thinking so.

"I didn't know you would be here," she said curtly. Gideon suppressed a chuckle at her expense.

"No, of course not. No more than I expected you to be here," he said, leaving Mary to wonder exactly what he was trying to say.

"And what is on your mind that draws you away from the delights of the rest of court? Leaving France? Your next marriage alliance? The Protestant problem in Scotland? A maddening English ambassador?" he asked cheerfully, and then added with more gentle solicitation, "Francis?" It still felt odd to her that he seemed to empathize with her loss more than anyone else at French court who had actually known her husband. And yet, Mary suspected that was part of what made Gideon easy to talk to when they were in the privacy of the balcony: here they could be nothing more than two people trying to live through the grief of great individual losses.

"You do think highly of yourself don't you?" Mary asked, evading his question about Francis and poking fun at his own teasing implication that he was driving her mad on his own merit.

"Only when the situation allows," Gideon replied amiably, "The situation often allows." Mary's eyebrows rose with disbelief at his gall, but her lips twitched in amusement despite herself.

"Any word of your daughter?" Mary asked, changing the subject. It was Gideon's turn to raise his eyebrows in disbelief at the nerve of the question.

"Don't you know? I thought you were intercepting my correspondence," Gideon asked cheekily. She had the good grace to not take offense at his accusation given that she'd clearly said as much in their last conversation.

"So, no, then," Mary answered her own question. He hadn't quite realized that he was hoping her question meant she knew something he didn't until she shattered that hope with her "no." Gideon chewed his lip and studied his hands as a way to compose himself.

"No," Gideon agreed sadly. _Though I hold out hope, still,_ he thought. He watched his ring turn round his finger as he toyed with it contemplatively—a gesture he often started unconsciously in moments when he felt his wife's absence more than usual. Mary caught the movement from the corner of her eye and watched the piece of jewelry spin slowly round the strong finger, his hands broad and masculine. Gentle hands, she noticed. Strong but gentle. Good hands for a father.

"What is she like, your daughter?" Mary found herself asking. She couldn't say why, but there was something about Gideon that made her think he was the kind of father a little girl might be lucky to have. The kind of father a little girl would worship and adore: charming, gentle, clever… loving. At least, she wanted him to be that kind of father; because if he was than he could possibly a good man. Certainly a better man than she had first taken him to be when they'd met.

Gideon cleared his throat. "I don't know. I've never met her, but I hope she is like her mother," his voice caught a little over the anger and remorse that filled him at the admission. Mary turned her whole body to look at him in surprise.

"You've never met her?" she asked incredulously. She'd somehow assumed that he must be close to his daughter if Elizabeth were able to ransom her to guarantee Gideon's unquestioning obedience. It was another insight into his character that he felt so strongly about a child he'd never even met. Gideon shook his head slightly and glanced up at Mary from the tilt of his head as though to remind her that he'd already told her once not to pity him.

"I was imprisoned by Elizabeth before her birth," he informed her with some annoyance disguised with impudence, "Your spies in England must not be very good to not have known that. It's not exactly a well-kept secret." Mary turned away from him again to hide her discomfort at his observation.

She felt that he wanted to drop the subject but she had to know: "What was your crime?" Gideon chuckled and then sighed. Of course Mary would ask. But while his imprisonment itself was no secret, the true reason for it was. As far as everyone but himself, Elizabeth, and Robert Dudley were concerned, Gideon's only crime was service to the late queen, Mary Tudor.

"I offended her sensibilities whilst in the service of Mary Tudor," he said by way of explanation.

"And now she has sent you to offend mine," Mary mused wryly. Gideon bowed his head slightly in acknowledgment. "Do you always serve your queens with such devotion?" Gideon paused before answering, looking at the Scottish queen with a calculating expression, wondering if she was the first person besides his wife to have recognized that in him or if she was mocking him.

"I serve my monarch without question, and will protect them, whoever he or she might be, for the sake of England unto my death," he answered seriously. Mary took a deep breath at the honesty.

"You are a good and loyal subject that any queen would be lucky to have," she noted, wishing that she could command just such loyalty from her own Scottish subjects. At the same time, she realized that, as admirable as his loyalty was, it meant that she could never truly trust him because he would always put his country's interests above her own. Gideon searched Mary's face to gage the sincerity of her compliment. The intimacy of that gaze unnerved her. It was just a look, and yet it felt nearly as intimate as the many times Francis had told her across a room that he loved her with just his eyes. Mary shivered. "I think the night has turned colder than I expected," she said, making her excuses to leave as quickly as she could, "Good night ambassador."

Gideon bowed, but did not say a word as he watched her leave with that same intense gaze that seemed to bore through her clothes to the skin underneath.

* * *

Gideon hacked at the cylindrical wooden dummy with a rage that should have shattered the thing; certainly would have shattered a man's bones. Instead, the wood splintered in a way that was not nearly as satisfying as he'd hoped. And yet, it was the only recourse he had short of murdering someone. A recourse that did nothing to change his situation, frustrating him all the more. He was so deep in his anger that he did not see Mary as she made her way down the parapet steps into the practice yard. She paused to watch him. Slicing at the dummy wildly, throwing his whole body into the movements. Francis had been an expert swordsman and Mary had seen him spar with his half-brother Bash and members of the guard on more than one occasion. What Gideon was doing now was nothing like Francis' and Bash's polished movements. This wasn't practice, this was release. It was brutal and inelegant and rekindled her hope that he just might be desperate enough to make her plan work, even as it made her all the warier of him. A man with that kind of rage was a dangerous man.

She remembered the anger that had carried down the hall in his voice when he'd argued with Jeffrey. That small snippet of conversation had been enough to give Mary pause: clearly thwarting the marriage with Spain had not been enough to make Elizabeth to allow Gideon to see his daughter. And as much as she distrusted the man who had clearly been sent with the intent to be a thorn in her side, she had seen the look on his face when thinking about his daughter. There was no doubt that, given the chance, he would be a doting father. That he would do anything to keep his child safe—the last living piece of the wife he had loved. She sympathized, given how angry she was herself over Lola's letter. She could not imagine if it was her child being held hostage rather than her friend.

"Ambassador Gideon," she called from a safe distance. Best not to startle a man swinging a sword. He paused to look over his shoulder at her. "You look like a man working out his frustrations," she observed imperiously, dragging her hand along the wall as she continued her descent, "Perhaps I should take a swing, as we are both frustrated with the same queen." Gideon's jaw twitched, and he turned back to the dummy, his nostrils flaring in anger. Yet another stubborn queen was the last thing he wanted to deal with right now.

"Don't know what you mean," he said, trying not to snarl. He felt her baiting him and was only barely holding onto his self-control. He could not let his anger make things worse by destroying all diplomatic relations.

"Well," Mary said as she exited the steps, "first Elizabeth holds your daughter hostage, and then she keeps changing the price on the little girl's freedom." Gideon took a swing at the dummy, trying to calm himself, before sheathing his sword. "Do you remember how we found your daughter Agatha's letters to you? We found other letters as well," Mary informed him.

"Of course you did," he retorted, there was no point in denying what they both so obviously knew, even discussed openly between them recently, "That's why we change ciphers routinely."

"My cryptographers finally deciphered the letters," she continued. Gideon turned away from her and grabbed a flask of wine to give himself something to do that would help him hold on to the few threads of composure he had left. "Including several from Elizabeth to you," Mary continued in a tone that said she knew full well that she was destroying every last hope for him with her words, "Ordering you to seduce me." For a brief instant Gideon was unable to hide the anger and dismay on his face, but then he laughed it off.

"Your cryptographers are breathing too much of their own ink," he scoffed, "They're imagining things." He took another swig of the wine in his flask. Mary was undaunted. She knew she had him cornered.

"And letters from her to your aide, Jeffrey, ordering him to watch your every move," she said slyly, drawing closer. Gideon didn't bother to hide his anger this time. He'd suspected that Jeffrey was a plant to spy on him but to have that suspicion confirmed did not improve things. God, this day could not get any worse. He just wished she would stop talking and leave him to wallow in his ire. "I can show you, if you need proof, but I don't think you do," said Mary, "If Elizabeth had to ransom your daughter to guarantee that you would obey her, why would she trust you without supervision?"

"Let it go, Mary," he warned through clenched teeth, pulling out his sword and hacking at the dummy with renewed anger. Unseen by him, Mary flinched and her eyes widened briefly with alarm at the way he threw himself into it. For a moment she wondered if it was playing with fire to provoke him this way.

But then she pressed on, "You are angry now because you know that your mission is doomed to fail. Why would I let you seduce me when I know the truth? Elizabeth will keep withholding your daughter." Gideon raised his arms over his head and drove his sword, double handed, as far into the dummy as it would go before spinning around to face her.

"That's enough!" he shouted in warning, "If you're finished." He glared at her with an expression that said, queen or no, if he lost his final thread of self-control she would regret it.

"Unless," she pressed on in her own dark tone, "I decide to let you seduce me." Gideon blinked; all the rage draining out of him in a confused rush. Surely he imagined that. There was no way a woman this intelligent would say what he thought she did. "Because it gets us both what we want," she continued, venturing a step closer to him now that he was no longer desperate to swing a sword.

"What are you talking about?" he asked, genuinely at a loss for what was happening here. He squinted at her as though it might help him see the situation more clearly. It didn't help that she was so beautiful and kept stepping closer while talking about seduction. He suddenly wished he hadn't drunk that wine.

Finally, Mary's nervousness showed through. She took a deep breath and launched into a rushed, excited explanation, "Jeffrey's letters say that he is returning to England soon. Let him bring news to Elizabeth that I am the lonely, brokenhearted queen she thinks I am and that you have seduced me. Convince her that you control me, and you'll have something to bargain with, to force her to let you see Agatha." Her suggestion immediately made sense from his end, but he knew there had to be more to her motives than reuniting him with his daughter.

"You said this would give us both what we want. What does it give you?" he asked.

Mary relaxed a bit at his question, then said with confidence, "You're not the only one Elizabeth has broken promises to. I have few enough weapons at my disposal. I plan to use this one to ensure Elizabeth keeps her promise to me." Gideon tried to read her face. She seemed sincere enough and he couldn't ascertain any outcome from her proposed duplicity that didn't benefit him and his purpose in France.

"Very well," he said finally, "How, exactly, do you plan to convince Jeffrey that I have seduced you?" He took a seat on the bench closest to them and motioned for her to join him. Mary hesitated for a moment, then sat down. Truthfully, she hadn't really thought much farther than convincing him to work with her.

"I thought," Mary suggested uncertainly, "perhaps some love letters would provide good evidence." Gideon nodded, making a mental list of the evidence that Elizabeth would require.

"A reasonable start, but unlikely to be sufficient," he noted. Mary frowned.

"What do you suggest then?"

"Jeffrey needs to be eye-witness to… something," Gideon mused, "Something that might be interpreted as somewhat illicit. Elizabeth has him watching me so that he can personally report what he has seen with his own eyes, verifying that I'm not just telling her what she wants to get my daughter back." Mary nearly popped out of her seat at what he was implying. A part of her had been anticipating collaborating with him again after the success of their thwarting of Don Carlos, but until this moment she hadn't fully realized what that collaboration might entail. _Something illicit_.

"W-would a kiss be sufficient?" she managed to get out. A kiss she might be able to accomplish, more than that however…

"So long as we could guarantee that Jeffrey saw it," Gideon continued thinking aloud, apparently not noticing Mary's discomfort or choosing to ignore it, "Notes that he could intercept, planning a secret assignation." It struck Mary that Gideon seemed alarmingly well-versed in what was required to make a seduction look convincing.

"This isn't your first seduction, is it?" she asked abruptly. Gideon chewed the inside of his lips and tried not to smile at the mild alarm lacing her voice. He shook his head and dropped his chin to his chest so that he could look at up at her with that piercing gaze of his. Mary was off the bench, spinning to face him. "Oh god," she exclaimed as all the implications of that revelation struck her, "that's why Elizabeth chose you of all people. That's why… oh god! Elizabeth! Did you… is that how you offended her?" Gideon remained silent merely looking up at her, waiting for her to put together what pieces she would; not confirming or denying anything. "No. Don't tell me," Mary concluded, "I will simply take this to mean that you know what you're doing. I will write the letters and set someone to watch Jeffrey to make sure he is in position to witness our 'assignation' as you say." Gideon stood and nodded in agreement.

"Of course," he said. Mary fidgeted, wanting to get away as fast as possible.

"As to the rest," she fumbled, "I leave myself in your experienced hands." Gideon frowned over a smirk, his gaze still piercing as he waited for her to hear the innuendo in what she had just said. Mary blushed, turned on her toes and fled.

* * *

When Mary had suggested she write love letters to Gideon as evidence of their affair, she had not fully anticipated the difficulty such a task would present. It was not that she found him physically repulsive, she'd just not given his appearance much thought before. And while she could find things about his character to admire—his devotion to his daughter and country—she did not find these things to be inspiring enough to fill her page with manufactured words of love and longing. Mary stood from her writing desk and paced her room. She needed to write something about Gideon and yet, when she reached for the deepest desires of her heart all she could see was Francis's face and feel the enormous ache he had left there.

But perhaps that was the solution. If she left out his name and too many specifics, maybe she didn't need to write about Gideon. Maybe she could write her letter to Francis, telling him how much she missed him and wished they could be together. Leave out the name and simply send it to Gideon. Mary sat back down at her desk and picked up her quill and began writing, the words flowing pure and true as she let her memories of loving Francis well up from the depths of her soul and spill onto the paper.

My love increases, and will increase more and more  
So long as I live; and I will find great happiness  
To have, a unique place in your heart,  
Where, one day, my love will be revealed  
So clearly, that you shall never doubt it.  
For you I will strive against despair  
For you I will seek out greatness.  
And I will do it so much that you will know  
That I have no wealth, luck, or happiness,  
But to love you truly.  
For you I await all good fortune;  
For you I will conserve health and life;  
For you I desire to grow in courage,  
And you will ever find me unchangeable.

For you I have cried many tears:  
First, when you made me yours,  
Though, at the time you didn't seem to care;  
And after, you gave me another burden,  
When you bled, and caused me great sorrow and a distress  
That almost killed me and I was afraid  
I would lose the only strength that armed me.  
For you, since, I have hated honor,  
The only thing left that brings happiness;  
For you, I have risked greatness and my conscience;  
For you, I have given up all family and friends,  
And set aside all other considerations:  
In short, you are the only alliance I seek.

* * *

Gideon felt anxious and ridiculous as he knocked on Mary's door. It was such a simple plan; it should not have put him on edge as it did. Mary opened the door and gave him a once over, judging the fit and color of his doublet and pants.

"Mm," she said, giving her approval, "we have to hurry. Juliet is signaling. Jeffrey is in position to watch our secret rendezvous. Has he already seen my love letters to you?" He took a step forward as though to enter the room but she signaled him back with one finger, before grabbing a bottle of wine and goblets from behind the door. Gideon glanced anxiously down both ends of the hall, checking for onlookers.

"He has read them, along with the notes arranging tonight's tryst," he confirmed, allowing her to stack the wine and goblets in his hands. He tried to look her in the eyes for verification. Mary closed the door behind her.

"Good," she said, circling behind him and shoving him down the hall ahead of her, "But this is only going to work if he sees us together. Now hurry." As they made their way out onto the balcony, Mary gave a gasp of concern and grabbed Gideon's arm, having spotted Juliet in the window with a candle, ready to signal when she confirmed Gideon's valet was watching them. An intimate dinner had been set up, and Gideon set the wine on the table before turning to see what she was looking at that had made her gasp.

"Where's Jeffrey?" Gideon demanded, too obviously trying to look in the windows facing the balcony.

"Well, don't look!" Mary chastised, giving him and a little push, "We don't want him to realize that you know he's there. Now sit. We're enjoying a meal together." Gideon did as ordered and immediately began to relax, while Mary arranged the goblets and poured wine. He watched her, taking in her tenseness. Even worked up like this she was beautiful and he saw no reason not to enjoy it, given the situation.

"Shouldn't you, perhaps, be smiling? You're supposed to be enchanted by my company," he teased with a smirk. She gave him a dirty look that seemed to demand he be serious, but it only lent strength to his smile as the situation allowed for his statement to actually be serious. The irony was too good for him not to enjoy it.

"I think I'm doing pretty well for a queen who used to rule two realms and is now barely holding onto one," she said defensively.

"Huh," he grunted noncommittally, popping a grape into his mouth with a casual gesture. He didn't want to burst her bubble on whether or not she was doing well. It all depended on perspective.

"A queen who," she expounded, while he chewed, "is reduced to playacting for someone else's servant to convince him that she's lost her foolish heart to a spy and a fraud." Gideon did not miss the insult to himself, rolling his eyes slightly. He was also not fooled. She was absolutely terrified right now. Playacting was not exactly her forte, he noted. And she was going to have to kiss him. The last man she'd kissed was the love of her life, who'd died in her arms. Gideon reached up and took her hand, rising from his seat as he did so.

"If only for Jeffrey," he said, guiding her to sit down across from him, "but also for you, Mary, sit down and breathe." She eyed him guardedly. His touch was gentle but firm, and oddly reassuring at the same time that it made her pulse quicken. She'd not properly appreciated before how deep and husky his voice was. But in the intimacy of the moment she heard it, and allowed herself to resentfully be seated. "It's going to be alright," he assured her, his expressive brown eyes willing her to trust him, "I'll get my daughter, and Lola will be released. If not this way, we'll find another." His look and his words promised that they were in this together and they would find a way—together.

"I do want to believe you," she confessed quietly, surprising him slightly, though he could feel her hesitancy, "But so many things have been going wrong lately. For me, for my country... I just don't know if I trust my own fate anymore. I don't know..." Mary cut short with a gasp as rain suddenly started coming down. Gideon looked up at the sky and chuckled.

"You have to admit, your fate has a sense of humor," he said, smiling wryly. Mary frowned at him and sighed, throwing her napkin on the table in disgust.

"We have to get inside," she said, sounding slightly frantic.

"Right," he agreed, as the rain came down harder, starting to drench them both.

"Bring the wine!" she cried, picking up her skirts and running inside. He grabbed the wine as directed and quickly followed after her, making their way back to her room. "We have to get to a window," she said as they entered the room, her tone a mixture of panic and annoyance, "He'll be able to see us from there." Gideon set down the wine. He was drenched to the bone, but before he could shake off any of the water, Mary was grabbing his shirt and dragging him toward the window seat. "We should get to the kiss quickly before the building collapses under the weight of my misfortune," she said in a rapid string of words that he couldn't seem to interrupt long enough to calm her down. He took her arm, trying to slow her.

"Shall we sit at this window seat?" he suggested reasonably. He was considerably calmer than she at the moment. But then, it wasn't him that this evening seemed to be falling apart for.

"Yes, but you've got to be in the right position..." she said, still speaking way too quickly and attempting to forcibly place him where he needed to be. Only she miscalculated and in her anxiety did not hear his warning as she shoved him toward the window seat.

"Ooof! Mary!" was all he got out as he tripped backward into the seat, landing on a pillow that promptly burst open, spilling out gold coins. Mary gasped, clapping a hand over her mouth. Gideon's mouth fell open in shock, looking up at Mary with wide eyes.

"Is this yours?" he asked, standing up. Mary shook her head, terrified. It wasn't hers, but she could guess whose it was and who hid it there. "No, you wouldn't have told me to sit here if so," he reasoned, looking back at the gold, his quick mind working through the possibilities and implications, "Do you know who would've d—" He didn't get to finish that thought, because when he turned back to her she cut him off with her mouth on his. A tiny "mm!" of surprise escaped him as they both pulled back. He blinked at her in shock, his mind gone blank of anything but her mouth. They were both panting, whether from the excitement of the rain and the gold and the intrigue, or from the kiss itself was hard to say. Mary stared at his lips. Had she really just done that? More importantly, why was she thinking about doing it again?

"Do you think that was enough to convince him?" she asked, dragging her gaze from his mouth to his eyes. Those brown eyes that looked her in surprise, longing, and a little bit of terror as he struggled to figure out what was happening. He looked younger like that: wet and in shock. She wondered if he had always been this handsome, with his brown curls plastered to his head with rain. Gideon strained desperately to remember who they were trying to convince. Himself? Yes. He was convinced. What of, didn't matter. He was too distracted by her full parted lips to care. He should care. She had asked him a question and he needed to answer.

"Um..." he said shakily, trying to read her face. Trying to read what she wanted. He knew that he wanted more. She gave him a skeptical look. And suddenly he remembered that it was Jeffrey they were supposed to convince, and kissing her again was a simple matter of saying…

"No," they said at the same time.

"Maybe..." he began.

"More," she finished for him, at the same time realizing her hands were still tangled in the lapels of shirt. She smoothed her fingers over his chest as it rose and fell with his excited breaths, her gaze flickering back and forth between the opening of his shirt and his face. He felt firmer and more defined under the fabric than she expected.

"More," he agreed, nodding with perhaps too much eagerness.

"Um... Less impulsive," she considered, her voice stumbling as she listed the attributes required to convince Jeffrey.

"Mm-mm," he agreed, fairly trembling with anticipation. It had been much too long since he had kissed a beautiful woman.

"Um. More deliberate. I will instigate to show that I've f-fallen for you..." she stuttered, waving one hand to fill in the gaps where the words were failing. Failing over the fear that they might be true. He nodded encouragingly. "Um..." she paused shakily, running out of things to say that would stall this thing that she couldn't admit she wanted for her own sake and not Jeffrey's. She gulped once then took a step closer, awkwardly trying to move her arm out of the way and then not sure where to put it. She placed it back on his chest and he waited as she leaned into him, meeting her partway. Their lips met softly this time. His head tilting down as hers tilted up, theirs eyes closed, his mouth pressing gently into the soft luxuriousness of her lips. Her lips gave way under the pressure, opening slightly to taste the sweetness of the grapes still on his breath. He kissed her tenderly and she responded in kind. His lips were cool with rain at first, warming quickly at the contact. Lost in the connection, his hand drifted up to her neck, gradually sliding into the wet black hair that stuck to it, his thumb grazing her jaw. The light touch of his fingertips grazing her skin and caressing the hair at the base of her neck made her belly flutter and twist. She was almost equally lost, drawing out the single kiss with the movement of her lips. For a moment the world fell away for them, and it was only as they pulled apart, eyes opening slowly and reluctantly, that it began to creep back in on them.

"Uh..." Mary whispered shakily. Gideon looked at her with half-lidded eyes and an open mouth, as though he were still frozen in the moment. His hand even now hovering near her neck before slowly, unwillingly falling away. He looked and felt half-awake, wondering if he was dreaming and reluctant to wake up from it. Mary's mouth opened and closed several times before the words came back to her. She pulled herself together suddenly.

"Well done," she said with forced brightness, patting his chest in a congratulatory fashion before grabbing his shirt and yanking him in the direction of the door. Gideon stumbled forward, dazedly looking back at the spot where they had just stood and where the gold still lay spilled over the floor. "All right," Mary was saying cheerfully, pushing the silently shell-shocked man toward the door, "Elizabeth will hear of this, and she will know it was a success. You've seduced me, you've won my heart. And, uh, well, then!" He turned back as she pushed him into the hall, wanting to talk to her. Knowing he should ask about the gold. But he never got the words out, his voice still lost in the kiss, his mouth hanging open silently as she shut the door in his face. Mary, pressed her back to the closed door and tried to catch her breath. Had that really just happened?

In the hallway Gideon strove to understand what just transpired. He considered knocking on the door but thought better of it. What would he say? _Excuse me Queen Mary, but why in hell do you have gold hidden in your pillows and can we kiss some more? I thoroughly enjoyed it._ Or better yet, _I am concerned the gold in your room is evidence of some foul play—I don't suspect you though. Also, I don't think Jeffrey's convinced. Perhaps we'd best remove some clothing._ No. Going back in that room would make him a complete imbecile. He took a few steps down the hall, then turned and walked back to the door. His hand was already poised to knock on it before he realized what he was doing. Good God! What was wrong with him?! Gideon clasped his errant hand behind his head to control it and walked away so quickly it was almost running.

* * *

Gideon picked up the doll from the peddler's cart and ran his hand over the hair gently. He wondered if Agatha would like it. He assumed she was still young enough to play with dolls. But who really knew? It had been so long since he'd seen her.

"Shopping for toys for your daughter, are you?" Mary's cautiously optimistic voice cut in on him, causing him to visibly jump, sidling away from her slightly. Their staged rendezvous was still very fresh in his mind. He made an effort to look her in the eye. "Have you heard something from England?" she asked. He cleared his throat and placed the doll back on the cart.

"Well, the queen is happy, yes. Seems Jeffrey reported our..." he paused awkwardly, nodding meaningfully at her, "evening together."

"Oh," she said, suddenly developing a deep interest in something—anything—on the cart.

He pushed on, moving past the thing that was now looming between them, "Now Elizabeth's considering dates when I might be allowed to travel home." He gave a perfunctory nod of acknowledgement for the roll she played in that, but his smile was more of a grimace. Mary gasped in delight.

"Gideon, that's wonderful news, isn't it?" she asked, trying to sound encouraging, unable to understand the cloud of gloom that continued to hang over him, "You'll be able to see your daughter again. And you can help my friend Lady Lola." His words came back more biting than he meant to, but his frustration made it hard to speak otherwise.

"'Considering,' Elizabeth says. I 'might be' allowed to come home," he said bitterly, shaking his head to say the that he knew better, "These are the same vague promises I've heard for years." Mary tried to understand.

"So she acts as though she's keeping her promise just by admitting she made one," she observed. Gideon grunted in confirmation. "How many lies and deceits does she expect people to accept?" asked Mary in disgusted incredulity. Gideon looked up from the goods on the cart, his expression alarmingly similar the one he had worn hacking away at the dummy in the practice yard.

"In my case, not many more," he growled in confession, "I'm at my limit, Mary. If I don't see my daughter soon, I feel I may lose my mind." She believed him. He seemed on the verge of madness when it came to being kept from his daughter, and if he were pushed too far… it was hard to know what he would be capable of. She wanted to reach a hand to his arm and comfort him, but his demeanor frightened her too much to act on the desire and he stormed off before she could work up the courage.

* * *

Mary swept onto the balcony in a wave optimism, surprising Gideon as he sat moodily looking at the stars and drinking wine from a goblet. He was too relaxed to stand at her entrance, leaning back in his chair with his shirt untied at the throat and his vest hanging open. Besides, they were beyond that kind of formality now.

"Oh, I thought I might find you here," she said cheerily, "Thanking your lucky stars?" His forehead creased as he looked up at her in curiosity.

"Thanking them for what?" He asked.

"You haven't heard?" She seemed surprised at his ignorance, but thrilled to be the one to share the news, "I got the news in a letter from Lola today. Elizabeth is keeping her word. Your daughter is coming here. Agatha's coming to France!" Gideon leaped from his chair. Wine sloshed from the goblet, spilling down the front of his shirt. Gideon stopped and looked down.

"Oh," Mary smiled in amusement at the result of his exuberance, pulling out a handkerchief and pressing it into the front of his shirt and the hard muscles beneath it. Her touch made his stomach squeeze. She was so close and the torchlight warmed the outline of her face. It wasn't just that she was beautiful and she was close, she had helped him get his daughter back because she wanted to. He didn't stop to think about it. In one quick movement he slipped his hand behind her head and pulled her face to his. And she kissed him back. At first. She couldn't help it, caught up in the moment as much as he was. But an instant later she had pushed him away, her mouth open in alarm. He looked at her curiously.

"Gideon," she said firmly, "no, we can't." He was instantly contrite. Squeezing his eyes shut over the embarrassment of his error.

"I'm sorry," he began, "I just..." He wanted to say it was an impulse. Too much wine. The excitement of the good news. His gratitude for her help. It didn't mean anything, please ignore it. But she cut him off before any of that could come out.

"We might be friends, but our countries are still enemies," she reasoned. Willing him with her eyes to understand how important this was.

"Mmm-hmm," he acknowledged, dropping his gaze in appropriate humility.

"It's one thing to pretend," she babbled on, her tone turning pleading at the end, "but to let this be real..." She stopped suddenly. He looked up in time to see the horror on her face as she realized what she'd just said. _Let_ this be _real_. Because if she didn't stop herself, that's exactly what it would be. She had told him before that love was not an option for her as a queen, but that he was right in guessing that she wished for it anyway. And she had now just as good as admitted that a part of her wished for it with him. One corner of his mouth curled upward in a smile. That smile terrified her, because it meant that he saw right through her and knew exactly what she wanted. Mary clamped her jaw shut tightly and made a stiff turn to flee the balcony.

"Mary," Gideon said her name like a gentle reproach, his deep voice making her breath catch and causing her to turn around and look back at him. He didn't say anything more. He didn't need to. As she gazed at him he raised his eyebrows in question, clearly asking the very thing she dreaded: _Is that really what you want? Because I am willing to try if you are_. Mary softened, a sadness and defeat stealing over her countenance. She shook her head slowly.

"No," she said again, more resolved than ever. Then fled the balcony. Gideon stared after her smiling to himself through his disappointment at her departure. For a terrifying moment, he had thought he'd ruined everything with that kiss; but then her face as she'd babbled her way into a confession of her feelings had changed everything in an instant. She wanted him. Despite herself; despite what she knew of his orders: she wanted him as he wanted her.


End file.
